


Thank You

by CrumblingAsh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Assisted Suicide, Bruce Needs a Hug, Hurt Bruce, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Poor Bruce, Poor Tony, Suicide, Tony Stark Has A Heart, but maybe he doesn't die, or not?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:58:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3298880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrumblingAsh/pseuds/CrumblingAsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even now, with this, Tony doesn't leave Bruce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank You

The serum isn’t ideal. It’s a suppression, the answer Bruce has been looking for, but it’s temporary. Right now, he has two minutes and fourteen seconds (thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten, nine-) until it burns away, until the Other Guy roars to life in his rage and rips apart his body and the world so graciously allows him to live through it. It won’t save him, but it will give him just enough time-

 

"Here." Tony’s voice is soft, subdued in his ear. Bruce feels the other man’s warmth as the billionaire sits behind him, wrapping himself around Bruce’s body like a blanket as he presses something both warm and cold into his hand. "You’ve got less than a minute."

 

Bruce stares down at the gun, scratched silver and worn-down metal. It’s old, well-handled. He knows exactly where it came from. “I wish you wouldn’t be here,” he admits, not for the first time. And as with every other time, Tony scoffs, a warm puff of breath against his skin.

 

"We talked about this." Stubble brushes against his neck; burns. "I’m staying. You’re not going to do this alone." He sweeps his fingers gently through Bruce’s curls, a favorite habit of his that soothes Bruce more than he has ever admitted. And maybe he should do that now, should tell Tony everything. Tell him how he loves it when Tony pokes his sides when he’s not expecting it, tickles across the back of his neck just to get him to laugh, tackles him to the bed every night just to cuddle and wakes him with a hickey every morning. How he loves Tony’s stupid laughter and Tony’s stupid jokes and Tony’s stupid damn habit of staying up for too long because he’s freakishly adorable when he’s tired. How he loves that Tony has never, ever flinched away from him — how damn grateful he is for that.

 

How much he just loves Tony.

 

"Let me give you this, Bruce." Even as he says it, Tony pulls him in closer, clutches him tighter. "Thirty seconds." Another sweep through his hair.

 

Slowly, Bruce brings the gun up, rests it against his temple, tentatively massages the trigger. The monster is still sleeping, seconds too late to stop this.

 

Tony kisses his shoulder, breathes heavy against his neck, holds him.

 

Bruce closes his eyes.


End file.
